Despite the stubbiness of his fingers Raulen had a fine, flowing script the equal of any scribe. Also, his reading voice was similarly accomplished, reciting my recently dictated words in even tones free of any stumbles. “‘. . . and so it came to pass that Queen Lyrna Al Nieren walked once more on the soil of her beloved homeland,’” he read. “‘And terrible would be her vengeance.’”
“Very good, Raulen,” I said. “I think that’s enough for today.”
“Thank you, my lord.” He rose from the stool and went to the cell door. “Same time tomorrow then.”
“Tomorrow my trial begins,” I reminded him.
“Yes,” he sighed, pausing at the door and forcing a smile. “No doubt this great work will be complete when your innocence is proved.”
“No doubt.” I returned the smile, grateful for his artifice.
“Even your gaolers are scholars,” Fornella observed after the heavy door had slammed shut, leaving us alone. She sat on her narrow bunk, surrounded by bundles of parchment. With little else to occupy her during the long months of our shared captivity, she had taken on the translating of my manuscript into Volarian, despite full knowledge it would most likely remain unfinished.
My gaze tracked over her now almost all-white hair, tied back from her face into a tight bun. In recent weeks the skin on her scalp and hands had developed faint red spots and the lines around her eyes grew ever deeper, though she bore it all without complaint. Despite the many messages I asked Raulen to convey to every Imperial official I could recall, she had never once been allowed out of this cell to relate the warning she held. Our journey was indeed an abject failure and it seemed the survival of this empire now depended entirely on Queen Lyrna’s vengeful designs. An absurd hope, I knew. For all her wits, and Al Sorna’s martial cunning, the Volarian Empire was monstrous.
It requires an empire to destroy an empire, I concluded, reaching for pen and parchment to write it down.“Something to aid your defence, I hope,” Fornella said, glancing up from her own work.